honeysuckle in our hair
by immer wenn es dunkel wird
Summary: Flowers mark their beginning, it's only befitting a single herb would signal the end. Fili x Ori (aka; the flower otp.)


_honeysuckle in our hair_

Note(s): Published on my tumblr, decided to lead a second life on here. Editing might be off. Might not. Who can tell?

Warning(s): Character death, _obviously_.

Summary: Flowers mark their beginning, it's only befitting a single herb would signal the end. Fili x Ori (aka; the flower otp.)

_I hereby disclaim any rights_

i.

Near the roots of the Blue Mountains, a band of travelling merchants sets up camp every cycle of half a year to trade with the occupants of Ered Luin and provide them in necessary supplies, fanciful silks and cloths, herbs, spices and other wares. They build their stalls under the watchful eyes of the dwarven watch, barricading the Northern entrance to fend off the plentiful goblins in the region and display their goods upon make-shift counters, hang them on hooks and enroll them on colorful coasters.

In the far-east of the market place, there is a warrantor of herbs, spices and flowers whom Dis frequently visits to draw inspiration for her craft from the curve of a falciform petal, the particular twine of a Magnolia's stem or the nerves crossing the leaves of Marigold. As a gesture of greeting, she offers the vendor a frugal smile and a quick tilt of the head, a few unruly tresses of ebony curling against the bulb of her cheek as she does, and directs her scrutinizing gaze over the collection of blossoms surrounding the poorly-constructed stall.

"Mumma.." Her youngest whines, tugging and pulling impatiently on her skirts, his hair a tumble of dark brown spilling from his cranium into the base of his neck and his eyes slightly squinted due to the overexposure of sunlight. "Master Bofur has new toys.. Can I look? Can I?" His tiny fists curl feverishly around the fabric of her robes.

Fili, the oldest of her sons, offers his sibling an amused glance and turns expectantly to his mother when she reaches for her leather coin purse and proffers two golden coins on the calloused palm of her right hand. She speaks to him calmly, yet sternly, "Do not bargain with him, Kili. But aye, you may take a glance if it suits your fancy." Her eyes flit to the blonde dwarfling aside of her, "Do you want to scurry 'round as well?"

He does want to loiter around without definite purpose if only to indulge his rambunctious brother, but his gaze falls on another dwarven child, who alternates between glancing at the sallow, albescent pages of the old journal in his hands and a pot of flowers with pale yellow petals. He recognizes the boy's braids vaguely and allows a smirk to twist the corners of his mouth.

"I'll catch up with Kili later, mum. I think I'm goin' to take a better look at those flowers o'er there." Her brows furrow together in a thick, furry curve.

She relents though, seeing as her enthusiastic youngest could be seen scurrying towards the stall of Master Bofur and at least, she could trust the eldest to be more sensible and responsible. Her attention shifts from her troublesome nest of cubs to the various shades of blue to be found in one blossom of a Morning Glory.

Prowling over to the other dwarfling with the finesse of a developing lionet, Fili casually bumps his shoulder against the other's well-hidden clavicle and grins wildly when the dwarfling looks up in confusion and mild trepidation at the sudden disruption.

"Ori. I thought I recognized you." He starts, his sneer widens in a slanted chasm as he does so, "What are you doin'?" He sneaks a peek at the lurid parchment, scribbled full with words of a tongue he does not comprehend and accompanied by drawings of the particular flower in front of them.

His posture positively sags after the initial astonishment wears off. Ori, clutching the journal closer to his well-clothed chest, just shakes his head and replies lowly, "Just browsing. Nothin' of your concern, Master Fili."

Rolling his eyes, the blonde dwarfling waves the officious title away with the curt movement of his hand. "Well, what are you readin' then? Your head seem'd pretty high up in the clouds." His apex, thick and mauve, darts out to skirt the line between his pressed-together lips.

Looking caught, Ori finally yields and relaxes the hold on the effete journal, granting Fili another glimpse of its mysterious contents. "Dori gave me a few coins to buy m'self some reliable study material.. And, one of the merchants had a botany study to offer.." He lowers his voice, "It's in Sindarin though."

"You are able to read Sindarin?" He replies relatively quickly but quietly. "That's great. All that studyin' must be gettin' you places. Fore you know it, you might write some studyin' material by yourself."

Ori laughs awkwardly, "Oh goodness, not yet." He poignantly avoids the other's gaze and idly brushes his fingertips over the petals.

Fili flings his arm over the cupper-headed dwarf's frame and answers, "You'll get there. Got a nose for talent." He cocks his head to show the other his profile and in extension, long nose, "Honestly… So, what's this pretty flower o'er here according to your booklet?"

"Primrose." He says, "Stands for eternal love, it does.. Elves, heh, they think flowers have this whole system of symbolics behind the'r names."

"Oh really?" Fili questions, straightening his composure. His eyes flit over the potted plants and settle on a lavender-colored bloom with deep streaks of purple traversing the petals, "What 'bout that one." He nudges towards the one he has in mind.

Thumbing through the layers of parchment, the dwarf settles on the corresponding page. He concentrates whilst deciphering the elven language and unsurely utters, "Mallow, I think it is. Looks like it."

"Well, what does it mean?" He's amused by the stumbling, stuttering movements of the other and the powdery blush adorning the apples of his cheeks.

Ori swallows, uncomfortably, "Consumed by love.. Ehehe, you sure know how to pick 'em, master Fili."

"Fili." He insists, his smirk charming, his posture calm, "We differ just a few years."

His hand crumbles into a fist, "Right.. Right, excuse me, mast.. Uhum, Fili." They look at each other for a moment and they both break into a fit of giggles.

"We should go look at the weapons, I reckon." Ori suggests, "Flowers aren't very dwarf-like, now are they?"

"Suppose they're not." He agrees readily, but casts one more look at the arrangement of blossoms. "One more.. For education's sake." He scratches his chin, already sporting scarce coarse whiskers.

His finger tip-taps over velveteen leaves and deceivingly soft stems before settling on flowers of a withering pink. "These?" His blonde brows arch as he looks at Ori for confirmation.

"Honeysuckle." It comes across firmly, without room for discussion.

Fili grins, "You've studied these before, aye?"

Nodding, the cupper-headed lad expands his exclamation, "They stand for devoted affection. Bonds, bonds of love, actually."

From accross the market place, a spitfire of curses could be heard from a booming voice which could only belong to the captain of the guards, Dwalin son of Fundin. Ori blushes a vicious vermilion when he hears his second brother's name specked between damnations and creative cusswords.

"I'd better be goin' now." He remarks, "Dori might throw a fit and I'd better be there to steady 'im. Shan't be pretty, no."

Fili chuckles, a sound akin to the rumbling from a lion's belly. "Fair 'nough. We should do this more often."

"What, exactly?"

"Conversing."

ii.

"This is absolutely boring." Kili announces without much sugar-coating, falling onto his knees aside his older brother, leaning on the broad shoulder. "We should be out huntin', I reckon. Or, wreaking havoc in the dull iron mines."

Fili bumps his head against his sibling's uncovered temple and placates him, "Ori o'er here is as kind to sketch my newly acquired dagger."

Nervously raising his chin from the comfortable hole buried in the broad knitted fabric of his scarf, the cupper-headed dwarf mumbles his thanks and adds a few more lines to the hilt of the knife. His gaze wades over the structure of the handle, the criss-cross pattern fluently entangling near the blade itself and absorbs the particularities of the transition from light to dark.

"And what's that?" Kili pipes up while he motions to tied-together bundle of pale lavender, held together by a grayish string of yarn.

Smirking fiendishly, the blonde one replies smoothly, "Flowers, brother. How are you capable to shoot a bulls-eye but fail to r'cognize a pretty lil' flower?"

"But what are they doin' here? You have a lady-friend, don't you, Ori? Well, you aren't bound to impress anyone with those lil' buggers. Don't look like much, they don't."

His hold on the charcoal tightens, until the pink in his knuckles becomes blotched white and mauve. "I'm tryin' to improve my drawin', _**actually**_."

"Oh." Came the eloquent response, but the younger of the two brothers isn't as easily deterred, "And what do you do with 'em when you're done drawin'?" His curiosity casts an amber-like gleam in the dark of his irises.

Smirk firmly in place, Fili retorts, "That's none of our concern, brother. He can do as he pleases with 'em."

Ori fiddles with the stick of charcoal and swipes a few more times over the sheet of bleak parchment before delicately placing his equipment on the sturdy chest of drawers in the living area of the house of Ri.

"All done.." He mutters shyly, gingerly handing the fruit of his labor to the blonde dwarf. When his hands are empty once more, he wrings the tails of his scarf anxiously.

Kili gapes openly, "Woah, this is really, really good. You're a born natural, Ori, you are." He pats his brother on the upper-arms, snatches the piece of paper and continues to stare at the art with astonishment set in his jaw.

"You did well." Fili compliments curtly, yet the appreciation is readable in his posture; the sag of his shoulders, the twitch in the corner of his lips forcing them into a grateful smile, the twinkle in those gray-blue eyes and the minimal flash of white teeth.

Returning the gesture with a timid simper of his own, the cupper-headed dwarf murmurs, "I give them to Bombur actually." He quickly sneaks a glance at the light purple blossoms, "He's courtin' a smith living near the Northern barricade, he does. Lovely lady, very polite, he assures."

"We should be goin' then." Fili starts, his hand resting comfortably on the asperity of Ori's elbow.

He nods, "Don't forget your dagger."

Breath blooms against the bulbous tip of his nose when the blonde one replies, in a deep warm voice, "I won't. My _gratitude_ for the sketch."

The chortle which follows seeps into his ear drum and finds a way of clouding the crooks and crannies of his brain for a week to come.

iii.

"Out doin' scholarly things 'gain, Ori?"

He startles from his musing, the stick of charcoal slipping between his pudgy fingers and rolling off the parchment before colliding with the stone floor. Afraid, the twig-like pencil might've snapped by the impact, his kind brown orbs immediately try to spot it, but fail inevitably.

Kili, unaware of the other's peril, plops down next to the cupper-headed dwarf and grab his right hand, forcing the rigid fist open before dropping a single silver ring upon the calloused palm. "Present." He explains, glowing with unshared merit and an air of mischief.

From deep within the cavern, complaints resound, echoing faintly around a syllable, before growing in fortitude, nearing. Kili, quick on his feet, salutes the seated dwarf playfully before sprinting off into the opposite direction, a few wisps of braided ebony lingering briefly in the halo of light the torch above his head provides. Footsteps boom from within the varying shades of darkness before the eldest of the two brothers emerges in a disgruntled and almost inappropriate state. One of his usually braided whiskers is now reduced to a tapestry of loose blonde strands, falling over the side of his mouth in defiance. Ori glances back to the ring in his hand and lightly shakes his head, almost incredulous.

"Hello, Ori. Did you happen to have noticed Kili dashing 'bout? He took something of mine as you can very clearly observe." His large index-finger twirls a few golden curls around and around before letting them fall loose again.

He raises his hand, the silver ring gleaming bright in the glow of the fire, and buries his chin deeper into the hole it has dug in the warmth of his scarf. "Guess he wanted to rattle you."

Crouching down on one knee, impertinently close to the other's face, Fili proffers a content smirk, seductive almost in nature and folds Ori's fingers close over the band. "Guess he did, indeed. Would you mind doin' me a favor?"

"Well, uhum, I was actually finishin' me drawin' of that honeysuckle o'er there, but I guess I could delay, yes, I could." He stammers unsure of himself.

His smirk flexes, dipping dimples into his face, "Good." His hand envelops the other's completely, "I can't braid to save my life, so I was wonderin' if you might want to aid me in my current.." He pauses for effect, "Predicament."

"You.. You know what that implies, aye?" His hand turns sweaty, the ring uncomfortable in his hold.

Fili hums lowly, "I am well aware." He holds the other's gaze, "Will you?"

He does. Even plaits chalice-shaped flowers into Fili's developing beard, stumbling every once in a while when one of the little buggers crushes to the ground.

They both share a laugh whenever it happens. Although more frequently then Ori is willing to allow.

"Are we.. Uhum, involved in courtship, then?" He questions, scrutinizing his pleaching, the plush of his fingertips still holding onto the endings of his whisker.

There's brush of hardened knuckle against the bone of his cheek. "Aye, _we are_."

Ori releases oxygen he didn't know he was holding in the short span between inquiry and the answer, and he speaks, "Good.. Because it'd be utterly disrespectful if we weren't."

iv.

Ever since his uncle returned from his wandering, from the endless councils and meetings with old, wise dwarves of standing, away from his desk, scattered underneath wheelbarrows of maps and legends and gilded tomes, the rumors of Erebor started to seep into the marrow of Ered Luin, more persistent than the smell of earth and iron. Then, the announcement of a quest; a death warrant for some, a solution for others and a sacred duty for those of the Durin bloodline. His mother, as proud and stubborn as her brothers, had promptly denied the invitation, she would rather stay an eternity in these fruitless mountains than see her sons die a martyr for a fanciful kingdom, a fanciful fairytale.

Yet the call is strong; especially for those remembering the splendor of Erebor, the bulk of the treasury and the plentitude of ore within the veins of the mountain.

Erebor is his birthright, uncle Thorin once whispered when he was but a dwarfling, a child begging for bedtime stories.

And then.. Yes, and then.

"You're goin'?" Ori looks up from his packing, sucking in his bottom lip as a usual display of timidity. Then he nods, firmly, pale pink petals twirling from in between the strands of his beard, originative of the honeysuckle Fili delicately interwove with the cupper hairs.

He hesitates, "Nori said this was his ticket out. Out of the shady dealings he'd been doin'. And the company needs a scribe, Nori said, and I'm good with words, you know that, Fili." Refocusing on organizing his traveling bag, he sighs and fiddles with a thread of yarn, "And Dori," He chuckles humorlessly, "Well, he is jus' an old fuss-pot, really."

"You be needin' someone to keep you on your toes then." Fili mutters, "Someone to keep your gaze on the horizon 'stead of your quill an' ink."

Smiling slightly, the cupper-headed dwarf retorts, "You jus' don't want to be the one teaching Kili _Khuzdul_ literature."

"If I'll join he'll most likely be joltin' on his toes to tag along. We could look after 'im." Ori knows how to fill in the blanks, what to jot down after Fili closes off his sentence and his mouth.

We could look after each other.

His thumb idly fingers the chalice-like flowerhead braided in the hairs underneath the tip of his chin. He likes to think they could look after each other in the heat of battle, face the peril ahead.

v.

Except they _couldn't. _

Dwalin has to pull Ori away from the fallen princeling's body, all the while avoiding the furious swipes of those grabby hands, the kicks of those feet ready to dig into the bone of his patellae and the curses no one knew Ori could utter swung at his his head.

Fili lies on a plain field-bed in the make-shift healing quarters; dried flaky blood streaking the gold of his head a dreary, muddled brownish crimson. Someone had the audacity -decency- to shift his eyelids shut. On each side of him are his weapons, soiled with war and stained with death.

He's succumbed to his wounds, the healers tell him, but he keeps shaking, keeps rattling off denial in hushed tones and shaky whispers.

They win, but Ori feels no victory upon hearing the message. Only the bitter sting of loss and utter despair.

"Dori." He mumbles hoarsely after the funeral ceremony is finished, after the thombs are sealed and the proper mourning begins. His sibling shifts besides him.

"Braid these into my beard, would you?" A familiar fragrance floods Dori's nostrils, and he looks down at the herbs in his brother's lap. Stems riddled with evergreen needles and blue flowers.

"That's rosemary." The remark is almost inaudible. "Why do you have rosemary with you, laddie?"

Ori casts his look downwards, as if each glossy petal contains a private memory Dori could never impose on. "It's for _**remembrance**_, it is." He insists whilst shuddering, "It is."

.

penny for your thoughts


End file.
